


Partners in crime

by sloganeer



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-13
Updated: 2006-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Move your ass and I'll buy you a bagel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners in crime

Jim drove them home that night. Not because he wasn't drunk (he was) but because that was how it always went, and a badge wouldn't be changing that -- at least not until Blair got a gun to go with it.

A couple of beers and cigars with the guys from the station, and Blair could barely stand. He had those Miranda rights down, though, and if he had been a little more drunk, he might have pressed Jim against the truck and told him that he had the right to remain naked. He was just drunk enough to fall over himself in the parking lot.

"Get in the truck, Sandburg." Jim stood with the passenger door open, glaring at him. "I'm the injured party here. Can you just get in the truck?"

"Can you just tell the truck to stop moving?" With one hand on the door for balance, Jim grabbed his arm and hoisted Blair into the front seat. "Thanks, man."

The next time Blair opened his eyes, he was sprawled on the couch, his feet hanging over the arm. There was noise coming from the kitchen. Smells, too, and Blair could guess that Jim was making breakfast.

"Is it morning?"

"Not yet, Chief," Jim answered. He loomed over Blair from behind the couch. "Just frying up whatever I could find in the fridge. Best thing for a hangover."

Jim was right. Blair really did feel better when they went back to work the next morning: three hours late.

-

It was exactly a week later, the day after Jim had put the cane away for good, when he burst into Blair's room too early in the morning.

"Grab your sneakers. We're going for a run."

Blair waited, not breathing, under the covers, until they were ripped away.

"You have a physical to pass. Early birds, Sandburg."

"Did I ever tell you about this tribe in Malaysia?" He sat up and saw, standing at the end of his bed, that Jim was indeed dressed and ready for a run. "They execute their prisoners by running them non-stop through the jungles."

Jim stared. He wasn't buying it.

Blair flopped back on the bed, but not fast enough. The pillows were gone, and he suspected the sheets would be next. Jim took the bed linen with him when he left the room.

"Move your ass and I'll buy you a bagel."

Blair moved.

-

Jim took him to a shooting range the next week. Waving hello to the old guy behind the counter, he grabbed two pairs of ugly orange earmuffs and led Blair, with a hand on his back, to an empty booth.

"But just to watch, right, man?"

This was big. The first step towards something that Blair at twenty had never imagined for Blair at thirty. That Naomi at sixteen had definitely not imagined for her kid. Jim could probably smell the sweat slicking his palms.

"I was thinking, maybe, you know, practicing with a piece of toast bit into the shape of a gun. Work my way up to something with bullets."

"Jeez, Sandburg, I thought I broke you of that hippie shit."

"No, this is exciting. I'm excited, Jim. I'll be able to give you actual backup, instead of just, you know, calling for it. I wanna do this, but, damn, does everything have to move so fast?"

"I know you're excited. That's why I thought you wanted to get started." Jim pulled his gun out of its holster, holding it out for Blair. "Look first," he seemed to say as he cradled the piece.

"Huge step, Jim," and he held out his hands to illustrate the point. Jim slapped the gun into the left one.

"At least hold the damn thing, Chief."

Blair got one shot off with Jim's hand on his shoulder.

-

Sandburg sat them down on the couch that night after dinner.

"Is this the 'I'll never be as good as you, Jim' talk?"

"Well, I wasn't gonna call it that," Sandburg gaped. "But, yeah."

"Sentinel or no, Chief, I'm still a better cop than you."

"Jim Ellison: Alpha Dog. I'm not disputing that," he said, his hands up in the air.

"All right then." Jim groped the couch, looking for the remote.

"But I'm not sure I'm ready for Blair Sandburg: Partner in Crime just yet."

"We can't put this off much longer, Chief. Simon's not going to be able to explain us to the brass anymore. Not without your academic credentials."

"It's too fast, Jim. I didn't even know I wanted to do this three years ago."

"You don't want to do this?"

"I do, I do. But how much is going to change?"

"Nothing has to change."

"You woke me up at six am to go running, Jim. That's not exactly where I saw our relationship going."

Jim flipped past a cooking show, the news, and Magnum PI until he found sports. "How's 6:30 for you?"

"Do I get a bagel with that wake-up call?"

"Chief, I'll even buy you lox."


End file.
